The World is Ugly
by lemonygoodness1998
Summary: Levi Ackerman never wanted to be a music teacher at a crappy public school, so when he finds a musical prodigy asking for his help he is hesitant to say the least. Devon Quill is the youngest senior, a musical prodigy, and painfully shy to top it off. What happens when these two come together to enter a songwriting contest with a prize of fifty thousand dollars? Perhaps love.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Levi's POV

"Listen up, brats," I said as I walked into the music room. The brats showed no sign of quieting down. "I said listen up."

They gradually quieted as they caught sight of my stoic expression. When the room was silent and thoroughly intimidated I spoke again.

"My name is Mr. Ackerman and I will be your music instructor for the year. Now, I wanted to be a professional musician, not a teacher, so don't expect me to be happy to be here five days a week. Secondly, don't expect this to be a class you can take just to raise your GPA. I plan on making this class as difficult as a music class can possibly be."

I heard several groans.

"Shut up," I told them. I turned to my new desk and picked up a stack of papers, then put it in the hands of the first student I came to. "Pass these around. This is your syllabus. I expect you to actually read it, not just sign the little waiver at the back and turn it in without ever looking at it."

The class mumbled an intimidated "yes, sir" and I went to stand by the whiteboard at the front of the room, picking up a black marker and drawing a music staff on the board. I turned to the class.

"Who out of you little shits can actually read music?" I asked.

Several hands went up.

"Then the first lesson of the year is just going to be a review to you." I eyed a brown-haired student, one who had raised his hand, who was doodling on a piece of notebook paper. I tapped his desk with my marker. "That does not mean that you don't have to pay attention, Mr…"

The boy looked up sheepishly.

"Jaeger," he said quietly.

"Jaeger," I repeated. "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Jaeger."

I walked back to the board and continued the lesson.

Being the last class of the day, school was dismissed when the bell rang. I left the room behind my students to take a piss. When I returned I opened my door and stopped in my doorway.

In my room sat a girl with long brown hair and a red sweatshirt even though it was August. I recognized her as one of the students from my last period. She sat with her back to the door in front of the electric keyboard, her hand barely grazing the keys. She pressed the power button at the top of the keyboard and turned the volume down to a whisper before hovering her fingers over the keys again.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing in here after school hours?" I asked from the doorway.

Her hands slipped and she slammed a quick dissonant chord into the keys before clicking the power button off. She turned partway towards me, her long, thick hair shielding her face from my view.

"I asked what you were doing in here, brat."

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. "I just- last year Miss Hanji- she-"

Hanji was the woman who had previously taught the class. She was now the head of the music department, teaching the band class and overseeing the varsity choir.

"Let me guess," I said. "Last year she let you stay after school to fuck around with the instruments."

She nodded quickly.

"That shit don't fly here," I said. "I want to go home."

"Yes, sir," she said, picking her backpack up from beside her feet and standing up. She kept her head down as she attempted to leave through the other door. Finding it was locked, she came to the doorway in which I stood and attempted to pass me. "I'll just be going now, sir," she said shakily.

I moved out of her way and she darted into the hall, speed-walking down the hall until she reached the front entrance.

Devon's POV

I exited the building and darted down the front steps, looking for my bike at the bike rack. I found it at the end of the rack with a bent wheel and a pair of feet beside it. Trailing my eyes up I saw him.

Pieter Jones.

"Well, what do we have here?" he asked rhetorically. "A little mouse?"

I didn't say anything, instead opting to look for his two cronies that always hung around him. I found that they were leaning against the side of the steps I had just descended. A hand suddenly gripped my chin. Pieter yanked my face around to face him.

"You will look at me when I talk to you, freak," he spat. I looked at him with my one visible eye, the other hidden behind a thick curtain of hair. "That's better."

"You're only hitting me because you know I'm right and you can't prove me wrong!" a new voice said. I recognized it as Armin Arlert's, and from the sound of it he was getting beaten up by Pieter's cronies. Pieter averted his gaze from me, his hand still wrapped around my chin.

I heard the door open.

"Hey!" Eren Jaeger's voice yelled.

"Calm down, Eren," someone said. Probably Mikasa Ackerman. "I'll take care of this."

"Like hell you'll take care of-"

I heard a punch land and saw the cronies running from the corner of my eye. From the other corner of my eye I saw Mikasa, Eren, and Armin walking down the sidewalk together, talking and completely ignoring me, if they had even seen me in the first place. When they were gone I spoke.

"What do you want, Pieter?" I sighed, not bothering to take his hand from my chin.

"Scum like you will not address me by my first name," he laughed. "You will call me Mr. Jones."

I was silent. A hand came down and slapped me hard across my face.

"Say it!" Pieter hissed.

"Mr. Jones."

It wasn't my voice.

Both Pieter and I whirled around to see Mr. Ackerman standing on the sidewalk. He still wore his slim pants and button-up, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his tie hung undone around his collar. The bully's face contorted into a smug smirk.

"And who are you, short-stuff?" Pieter mocked. Mr. Ackerman seemed to bristle at the insult, but kept moving forward until he was between me and the bully.

"I happen to be the new music teacher at this fine establishment," he said sarcastically. "And you will address me as 'Mr. Ackerman,' not 'short-stuff.'"

If there was one thing Pieter was afraid of it was authority, and Mr. Ackerman was an especially intimidating authority figure. Pieter looked down at Mr. Ackerman in fear before glancing back at me.

"Next time I see you you're dead, Quill," he spat before running off to join his cronies.

"Thank you, sir," I said to my feet after Pieter had turned the corner.

"Not a problem," he said.

He began his walk to where I assumed his car was. I, on the other hand, looked down at my mangled bike. The wheel was bent beyond repair, the spokes nearly crushed. Seeing as my bike was my only real method of transportation, I was stuck with walking. While partially carrying my bike.

Pieter was an absolute asshole.

I let out an irritated huff and hefted my backpack further onto my shoulders before I grabbed my bike by its handles and pushed. It would hardly move thanks to the goddamn bent wheel, so I had to lift the front end in order to push it along.

I turned the corner and passed a sleek black car which Mr. Ackerman was getting into. I tried not to attract his attention, but apparently I did a shit job of it. The teacher called out to me.

"Oi!" he said. I stopped walking but kept my face hidden behind my hair. "What happened to your bicycle?"

"I don't know, sir," I lied. He caught on.

"Did that asshole kid do that?"

I didn't answer, which he must have taken to be a yes.

"How far away do you live?"

"A thirty minute bike ride, sir."

"Do you have any other way home?" he asked.

"I can manage, sir," I said to the ground.

"I didn't ask that. I asked whether or not you had another way home."

I shook my head. He sighed.

"Put your bike in the trunk and get in," he said, nodding in the direction of the passenger's side door. "I'll take you home."

"Aren't you supposed to offer me candy first?" I said before I could stop myself. My eyes widened and I covered my mouth with one of my hands.

"Would you _like_ me to offer you candy-"

"No, sir," I said quickly. I thought I heard him chuckle lowly, but his face was straight when I looked at him. "Are you really sure this is okay?"

"Just get in."

I wheeled my bike around to the back of his car and popped the trunk, sliding my bike in. It was a tight fit, but when I closed the trunk it fit. When I got into the cab of his car I closed the door, buckled my seatbelt, and looked at my lap.

"Are you going to tell me where you live, brat?" Mr. Ackerman asked after a moment. I jumped in my seat.

"Sorry, sir," I said. "I live on Parsons."

"You're going to have to give me more distinct directions than that," he said.

"Sorry, sir. It-"

I noticed my right hand was shaking in my lap.

"It's what?" he asked.

"Nothing, sir," I said shakily. "It's nothing. My house is-"

I braced myself against the dashboard and took calming breaths. I felt a hand on my back and flinched, curling deeper into myself. The hand was removed.

"It's very obviously not nothing," he said.

"I-I-" I stammered. "I get anxiety attacks very easily, sir," I said.

"And you're in the middle of one, right?" he asked. I nodded.

"Yes, sir."

I dug my phone from my pocket, fully intending to type my address into its GPS feature, but my hands were shaking so much that the phone fell to the floorboard, landing with a soft thud.

"I'm so sorry-"

"I can wait until you're done. I don't have anywhere to go but home," Mr. Ackerman said.

 _Why is he being so nice to me?_ I thought. _There has to be a reason._

"T-Thank you, sir."

"And you can quit all the 'sir' bullshit," he said. "It makes me feel old."

"O-Okay, s-" I stopped myself from saying sir.

My shaking eventually stopped to a degree where I could actually type my address into my phone and hand it to Mr. Ackerman. He put the car into drive and started the drive. I put my head against the window and closed my eyes. The car eventually slowed and I opened my eyes to see my house.

My house was a beautiful two-story colonial in historic downtown, one of the richest and most enviable neighborhoods in town. When Mr. Ackerman saw the house he let out a low whistle.

"With money like that why don't your parents send you to a private school?" he asked.

"I don't know," I lied. I knew.

I got out of the car and popped the trunk, hauling my mangled bike from its depths and setting it on the sidewalk. I closed the trunk and walked back around to the open passenger's side door.

"Thank you, Mr. Ackerman," I said. "And…"

"And what, brat?" he asked.

"Please don't treat me any different just because I get anxiety attacks," I said quickly. "I don't really… want to attract much attention."

He made a noise of recognition.

"Okay," he said. "Now get going. I'm sure your parents are expecting you."

"It's just parent," I said before I could stop myself. "It's my father this week."

I almost winced.

"Well then I'm sure your parent is expecting you."

I nodded and closed the door before dragging my bike to the garage. Mr. Ackerman drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Devon's POV

I walked into the house and immediately smelled alcohol coming from the living room (the perks of having a hypersensitive nose). He had been drinking again. Great.

"Is that you, Devon?" I heard my father slur. I winced.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Come in here," he said. I winced again.

I walked into the living room to see eight or so dark brown bottles littering the carpet, one of which was in shards. The smell of beer was even worse. My father was lying back on the back cushions of the couch. He wore a stained button-up and a pair of sweatpants and one sock.

"Clean this up, _bitch_ ," he laughed, exaggerating the last word. I sighed but did as he told, bending down to pick up the shards of brown glass that were stuck in the weave of the shag carpeting.

I felt a foot on my ass and was suddenly catapulted onto the coffee table, my head hitting a corner. I stopped myself from crying out. That would only make it worse. My father laughed maniacally and clapped his hands like a seal as I picked myself up and got back to work, this time on my hands and knees.

"That's a much better position," my father slurred. "Good place for a bitch to be. On her hands and knees."

I sighed but continued to pick up the shattered bottle.

Once I was done picking shards of glass from the carpet I moved on to clearing the coffee table of bottles, placing them in the recycling bin in the kitchen. That done, I steeled myself and went back into the living room to face my father.

"What do you want?" he asked. "You're standing in front of the TV."

"The TV isn't on, Father," I said quietly, hoping he wouldn't yell at me for speaking out of turn. Instead, he grunted in recognition.

"I guess it's not," he said. "What do you want?"

"My front wheel is bent beyond repair, sir," I said. "I need a new wheel. I can put it on myself and everything-"

My father stood up.

"What do you mean it's bent?" he asked lowly. I cowered.

"I mean it's bent. Some kids at school-"

"What makes you think I'll get you a new wheel?" he asked.

"So I can get to school, sir," I almost asked. "So I can get an education, sir."

"Women don't need educations, especially not bitches like you," he laughed. His breath was tinged with smoke. "If you want to go to school so bad you'll just have to walk."

"But-"

"Are you about to question me?" he growled. I rapidly shook my head. "I didn't think so. Now get out of here. I want to watch TV."

"Yes, sir," I said on cue. "Thank you, sir."

I left the living room and went upstairs to my own room, leaving my father behind, quickly setting my alarm clock for five-thirty instead of six-thirty.

Levi's POV

The next day after school I noticed the same girl walking down the sidewalk as I got into my car.

"Oi!" I called. She stopped but didn't turn and, just like the previous day, kept her face hidden by her long hair. "Where's your bike?"

"It's at home, s-" She almost said sir. "It's at home."

"Did you walk to school this morning?" I asked, leaning against the frame of my car. She nodded. "And how long did that take you?"

"About an hour," she said.

"Get in. I'm taking you home again."

"Are you sure? I mean, I can just put my headphones in and-"

"Just get in."

"Yes, sir." She winced.

She walked around the car and got in beside me. I closed my door and started the car.

"Same place as yesterday?" I asked. She nodded again. I put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

We rode in silence for a few moments before she spoke.

"Why are you doing this for me?" she asked. She didn't face me.

"What do you mean?"

"There has to be a reason you're driving me home two days in a row," she said. "What are you getting out of it?"

"I get to listen to your endless chatter," I said sarcastically. She snorted.

"Nice."

"I'm not getting anything out of it. It's just the right thing to do, so I'm doing it."

I thought I heard her whisper " _that's new_ " to herself, but I didn't push it. She was already painfully shy.

"So why don't you have your bike today?" I asked. She didn't say anything. "I asked you a question, brat."

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I, um, I never got around to fixing it last night."

"Couldn't you have just gotten your dad to take you?" She almost snorted at that. "What?"

"Nothing. He just didn't have time today."

I looked at her from the corner of my eyes.

"He just didn't want to, you mean."

She was silent.

I pulled up to her house and put the car in park. She thanked me quietly and got out of the car, dragging her backpack with her.

"Hold on," I said.

"Yes?"

"I'm picking you up for school tomorrow."

She flinched.

"I don't want to inconvenience you, Mr. Ackerman-"

"Too bad. I'm choosing to be inconvenienced. I can pick you up until your bike is fixed."

She looked down at her feet.

"Thank you, Mr. Ackerman."

"You're welcome… What is your name?"

"Bit- Quill. Devon Quill," she said. Her right hand was shaking furiously.

"You're having another anxiety attack, aren't you?" I asked. She nodded. "Don't you have some kind of medication for those?"

"I'm saving it," she said.

"Whatever you say," I said. "I'll be here at seven. Sharp. Don't be late."

She nodded again and closed the door, walking up her driveway and going into her garage. I drove away.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Levi's POV

When the last period of the day came around I was exhausted. I had stayed up until three in the morning, picked Devon Quill up and dropped her off in front of her hall, and gotten through six periods of noisy brats. As the eighth period class filed in I could almost physically feel my patience wearing thin.

Devon Quill was the last to enter the room, placing her backpack beside her feet and sitting down in a desk in the back. I went to the door to close it and then returned to the whiteboard at the front of the classroom.

"Alright, brats," I said. "I was up until three in the morning making these worksheets for you, so be appreciative."

I handed a stack of papers to the first brat in the class and instructed her to pass them down. Once everyone had one I took the extras and placed them in a folder on my desk.

"We will be continuing our lesson on reading music and, after I have reviewed all the fundamentals with you, you will be working on the worksheets that have just been passed around."

I took a black marker and drew two music staffs on the board, placing a treble clef on one and a bass clef on the other.

"This is a treble clef," I said, pointing to the staff on the top. I then tapped my marker against the board beside the lower staff. "This is a bass clef."

I drew several more symbols, explaining each one and its function, then leaving the class to do their worksheets. Not a minute later I had a paper placed on my desk. I looked up to see a girl with long brown hair covering most of her face and a red sweatshirt. Devon Quill.

"You're done already?" I asked, probably too abrasively.

"Yes," she said with a single nod.

"Very well, then," I said, taking the paper and beginning to look over it. Devon Quill went back to her desk and pulled out a book.

Surprisingly everything on her paper was correct. I wrote a small red "100" in the top corner and placed the paper in its designated folder.

Within the next ten minutes everyone had turned in their papers. I hadn't anticipated they would finish this soon and had nothing else to give them, leaving me with a group of restless teenagers to deal with. I looked up at them.

"Don't you shits have other homework to work on?" I asked.

Quiet "no, sirs" were murmured throughout the room. Devon Quill was still reading her book.

I sighed quietly.

"Pick an instrument and have fun," I said. Everyone hopped out of their seats and ran to an instrument.

The moment a mallet hit a xylophone key I regretted my decision. It was ridiculous how much noise they could make with a room full of musical instruments. I was starting to get a headache from trying to grade papers through the din. I looked up to calm my racing brain when I noticed that Devon Quill still sat restlessly in her desk.

Standing up, I went over to her desk and looked down at her.

"Why aren't you fucking around with the instruments?" I asked. "Isn't that what you wanted to do that day after school?"

She looked down at her desk where her book was splayed. Her right hand was shaking slightly.

"I see," I said.

"Yeah," she whispered to her hands, then looked back to where the boys I had come to know as Jaeger and Kirstein were arguing over who got to play the keyboard. I tapped her desk twice.

"See me after class," I said lowly.

"Yes, sir," she said automatically.

When class was over and all the students but Devon had filed out of the room I went over to the door and closed it.

"You have ten minutes," I told the girl. "Do what you want for that time, and then you get your stuff and I'll take you home."

"Thank you," she said quietly, tucking her book into a pocket in her backpack. She got up and immediately went to the keyboard and sat on the stool in front of it.

She pressed the power button on the keyboard and gingerly hovered her fingers over the keys and-

It sounded like a sunrise.

There was no music in front of her, only her fingers and the keys. When she finished her hands were shaking and she was breathing hard. I stood dumbfounded by the doorway. When I finally managed to compose myself she had already turned off the instrument and was gathering her things, always keeping her face hidden by that thick curtain of hair.

"Did you write that yourself?" I asked, my voice thankfully neutral. She faltered as she was zipping one of her backpack pockets.

"Yes," she said simply.

"When?"

"Just now."

My chest tightened in an unfamiliar emotion, something I hadn't felt since I was a child – excitement. I pushed it down.

"Not just anyone can do that, Quill," I said. She nodded and stood up, her backpack slung over both shoulders.

"I know, sir."

"Have you ever taken a formal lesson?"

"No."

"How long have you been teaching yourself?"

"About six months."

I couldn't help but run a hand through my hair. This girl was incredible.

"You do understand that in the musical world you'd be considered a prodigy, correct?" I asked her. She didn't look at me.

"I don't know if I'd call myself a prodigy, sir," she said quietly.

"I would. Now get your things. I'm taking you home, and don't think this conversation is over."

She nodded once and slipped past me through the door, hurrying to her locker.

Devon's POV

The normally quiet and stoic teacher never stopped asking me questions on the ride home. I managed to answer most with one word, yes or no, but one question caught me off guard.

"Why haven't you taken formal lessons?"

My hand started shaking in my lap, but I covered it with my other hand. I faced the window.

"My parents don't know."

Mr. Ackerman pulled over.

"What do you mean they don't know?" he asked. His voice somehow managed to sound incredulous even though it sounded no different than how he normally spoke – neutral.

"I mean they've… they've never heard me play," I said. I fiddled with my hands in my lap.

"Why?"

My hand was now shaking to the point where my other hand could no longer contain it.

"I'd rather not say," I said.

"I respect that," he said. "I was just wondering-"

"Could we please just… drop it?" I asked.

"Alright."

The rest of the ride was silent, something I thanked whatever deity for. When he pulled over beside my house I thanked him for his time and pulled my backpack from the floorboard.

"I want you to stay after school tomorrow," he said. I froze. What had I done?

"Why, sir?" I managed to ask.

"To practice," he said. "I want you to have a place where you can play."

I let out a relieved breath.

"Thank you," I said. "I appreciate it."

"It's not like I'm going to let you stay for more than fifteen minutes," he said. I almost laughed. It was just like him. Trying to cover up that he cared.

"I still appreciate it."

I closed the door and he drove off. I turned to my house, steeling myself to face my father.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Levi's POV

The next day the head of the music department, Hanji Zoe, dragged me to eat with her in the cafeteria, a place I had purposely avoided for my first few days.

I was thankfully placed at the end so I would only have to sit my one idiot, not two.

"So, Mr. Ackerman," Hanji teased. We had already met at a faculty meeting, a meeting during which she soon became comfortable using my first name. I had gotten comfortable calling her shitty-glasses. "How are you getting along here?"

"It could be better," I said.

 _If I didn't have to be in this godforsaken cafeteria eating what looks like dog food._

"I'm sorry to hear that," said a new voice. I looked up from my food to find Erwin Smith, the school's principal, in the process of sitting down across from me. "Is there anything I can do to make the transition smoother?"

 _Kill shitty-glasses._

"No," I said instead.

Devon Quill walked by the table on her way to the lunch line. Hanji grabbed my arm and, after making some offhanded remark about my musculature, pointed excitedly at my student's back.

"Do you see her?" she squealed. "That was my favorite student!"

"I do believe she's in Levi's class this year," Erwin said. I made a noise of recognition. Shitty-glasses squealed again.

"She's incredible!" she exclaimed. "She's a musical prodigy! Have you heard her play the guitar yet?"

"No."

"What about the harp?"

"No."

"Ukulele?"

"No."

"Violin?"

"No."

Shitty-glasses threw her hands in the air in frustration.

"Have you heard her play anything?" she asked.

I thought back to the previous day when she had played her sunrise song, her fingers crashing and flitting across keys in a way that somehow reminded me of ocean foam against the rocks.

"I've heard her play the piano," I said, fiddling with the rim of my coffee cup.

Shitty-glasses grinned widely.

"Oh wow!" she giggled. "What a treat! The first time I heard her play the piano I was ecstatic! It was beautiful. I wish I could play it that well."

"She's also the valedictorian of the senior class," Erwin said. That didn't surprise me. But what did surprise me was Shitty-glasses squealing:

"And she's only sixteen!"

I almost choked on my bite of what looked suspiciously like dog food.

 _She's not legal_ , I thought. _But what do I care?_

"She's only sixteen?" I asked. "How is that possible?"

"I think she skipped a couple of grades," Erwin said. "But I'm not sure."

"Her parents must be so proud," Hanji said.

 _"_ _My parents don't know," she said. I was so stunned I pulled over._

 _"_ _What do you mean they don't know?" I asked, incredulous and hoping to hide it._

 _"_ _I mean they've… they've never heard me play."_

Something told me her parents didn't know, or at least didn't care.

Devon's POV

That day after school my fingers ached (I had played a guitar during my time with Mr. Ackerman) as I got my stuff together and headed out to my teacher's car. I slid into the passenger's seat and closed the door, resting my head back against the head rest.

"Ready?" Mr. Ackerman asked. I nodded.

"Yes."

"Alright."

We rode in silence for a minute or so before he started asking me questions again.

"When did you start playing the guitar?" he asked.

"About a year ago."

"So longer than the piano," he said.

"A year is longer than six months, yes."

He looked at me.

"There's a sarcastic little shit under all that shyness, isn't there?"

I covered my eyes with my hands and leaned farther back into the seat.

"You know," I said, "you know basically everything about me and I know almost nothing about you."

"I wouldn't say I know everything about you," he said. "I know your age, your name, your academic status, and that you're a musical prodigy. That's far from everything."

"There's a sarcastic little shit under all that rudeness, isn't there?"

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"You could say that," he said. "What do you want to know?"

I thought about it for a moment before saying:

"Your age."

"I'm thirty-five," he answered.

"Your first name."

"My first name is Levi."

"Where did you go to college?"

"The local university."

"Did you graduate with honors?" I asked.

"If I had graduated with honors would I be in this shitty town and in this shitty school?"

"True enough," I said. "Are you a musical prodigy?"

His hands flexed on the steering wheel.

"I took to the triangle exceptionally well as a child-"

"You know what I mean," I laughed. I paused. That was the first time I had laughed in a long time.

"I was called a guitar prodigy," he said. "But I got in a car crash in high school and my left wrist was shattered."

"So you'll never play again," I finished. He made some noise of recognition. "I'm really sorry-"

"You didn't do it," he interrupted sharply.

We were awkwardly but necessarily silent for a few moments before I spoke.

"So now I know your age, your name, your academic status, and that you're a musical prodigy," I said.

The corner of Mr. Ackerman's mouth twitched again.

"So we know just as much about each other," he said.

We pulled up beside my house and I got my backpack out of the car before stepping out myself.

"Thank you, Mr. Ackerman," I said.

"Since we know so much about each other now just call me Levi when we're alone," he said.

"O-Okay," I stammered, a bit taken aback. "Thank you, Levi."

"Not a problem," he said. "Same times tomorrow?"

"Same times tomorrow," I said with a small smile that I hoped was invisible behind my hair. From the way his eyes flicked to my mouth I guessed it wasn't.

He pulled away from the curb and drove off, leaving me alone on the sidewalk with a small smile and an odd fluttering in my stomach.

 _I have a second friend_ , I thought. _Two whole friends_.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Devon's POV

The moment I was through the door he was on me, grabbing me by the hair and pulling me to the kitchen. My father smelled overwhelmingly like booze and smoke.

He crashed my head down on the counter. I popped back up and held the back of my head where it had hit the granite.

"Listen here, slut," he growled in my face. I flinched. He had never called me a slut before.

"Yes, sir?" I said, overwhelmingly scared.

"I saw you get out of that guy's car," he snarled. "Did you seduce him?"

I shook my head quickly. He punched me hard in the eye, causing me to collapse against the counter once more. I could tell I would have another black eye in the morning.

"You will say 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir,' bitch," he said. "You're not equal to me."

"I-I'm sorry, sir," I stammered, still holding onto the counter.

"That's better," he said. "You seduced him, didn't you?"

"No, sir!" I cried as he grabbed my hair and pulled. "He's one of my teachers!"

"I bet he is," my father scoffed sarcastically. "Teaching you how to suck dick."

"No, sir!"

"I bet he's a real good teacher, hm, bitch?" he laughed, smoke-tinged. "If he's such a good teacher, why don't you show me what he's taught you?"

"I-I don't know what you mean, sir," I stammered. I knew exactly what he meant, and I was about to lose my lunch.

"You know what I mean," he whispered in my ear before running his tongue along its shell. I stuttered.

He pulled me by my hair and forced me to my knees before unzipping his jeans and-

"Suck it," he commanded.

I was almost crying. How could this man possibly be my father? How could he be my only living relative?

I wrapped my lips around him and-

 _"_ _There's a sarcastic little shit under all that shyness, isn't there?"_

I bit him.

He nearly screamed from the pain as he pulled himself from my mouth. I wiped my tongue repeatedly on my sleeve.

He tucked himself into his pants and yanked me up by my hair, absolutely fuming. He slapped me hard across the face and slammed my head onto the counter, grabbing a cleaver from the knife block.

"You're gonna regret that, little slut," he growled as he raised the knife above my head.

"No!" I yelled, a couple of tears escaping my eyes. I slammed my lids shut.

The bang came, but never the pain. I opened my eyes to find that my father had chopped off my hair rather than my head. I let out a sigh of relief.

But how was I going to cover up my face?

"Let that be a lesson to you, bitch," my father said before walking away to go to the living room.

I ran to the upstairs bathroom and looked in the mirror. One side of my hair was at my shoulder, the other at my waist. Several choppy sections littered my bangs and one long lock graced the short side. My hair looked hideous.

And what it once covered up was hideous, too.

Levi's POV

The next day when Devon Quill walked into the classroom she had her hood up. She kept it up for the entire class, and instead of staying after school with me she asked if she could get her things and leave.

"Sure," I said, and she walked out of the room.

When I saw her next she was outside standing in front of the assholes who had hit her on my first day.

"What's the matter, little mouse?" he teased. "Too scare to come out of your hole?"

"Leave me alone, Pieter," she said. Pieter and his cronies backed up a step in mock fear.

"Oh my goodness!" Pieter squeaked. "I'm terrified! Someone help me!"

"Shut up," Devon said.

The boys "ooh"ed.

"Didn't know you had an assertive streak."

"What's under that hood there?" mockingly asked one of Pieter's friends.

"A whole lot of ugly, I bet," Pieter laughed. "That's probably why she keeps it covered up."

"Let's see it."

Devon fought to keep her hood up, but the boys were stronger than her and managed to pry it from her grasp. From her hood fell strands of choppy brown hair, very different from the long curtain I had come to know. The boys laughed.

"Looks like she tried to cut her hair herself!"

"She's probably too poor to afford a real haircut!"

This was when I stepped in, striding down the sidewalk and stepping in between the boys and Devon Quill.

"Would you like to say that again?" I asked. Pieter gulped and shook his head. "Then I suggest you run along."

"Yes, sir," he said and ran away, his friends running with him. When he was gone I turned to face the girl.

"Are you alright?" I asked. She nodded.

"I'm fine, Mr. Acker- Levi," she said.

I liked the way she said my name.

"You don't look fine," I said. "What happened to your hair?"

I pulled the rest of her hair from her hood. Half of it reached her waist while half of it brushed her shoulder, one strand on the short side reaching her waist as well. I fingered the long strand and looked at her.

"Nothing, sir," she said.

"What have I told you about calling me sir?" I asked.

"It makes you feel old," she said before smirking slightly. "Sir."

"Don't fuck around with me," I said, amusement probably evident in my tone. "Come on. I'm taking you to get a haircut."

She froze.

"No. That's okay. I don't need to- I can-"

"It's on me," I said, turning and heading to my car. "And I'm not taking no for an answer."

We eventually got to a hair salon. I felt uncomfortable walking in, considering it was populated solely by women, but I knew this was the right thing to do, so I didn't let it faze me.

The woman behind the desk was confused by my presence.

"Do you need anything, sir?" she asked.

"My friend needs a haircut," I said. Her confusion cleared up when she saw the hooded figure of Devon Quill, obviously female from the skinny jeans, standing beside me.

"Alright, I'll see if I can fit her in right now," the woman said. After a few moments she called out to one of the hairdressers.

"Cheyenne!" she called. "You've got a walk-in!"

The girl called Cheyenne whirled around. She had short black hair and far too much jewelry, but a friendly smile and bright eyes. Not my type, but perhaps the type to get Devon to open up.

Cheyenne walked up to the front.

"Hey, there, cutie," she said to Devon in a southern accent. "I'm Cheyenne."

"Bit- Devon. Devon Quill," said Devon Quill.

"I hear you're in need of a haircut."

"Yes, ma'am," she said, her eyes on her feet.

"Oh, don't call me ma'am," she giggled brightly. "Just Cheyenne will be good enough.

"Okay."

She led Devon and I to a station in the back. I got several looks from the female patrons of the beauty salon, most of which I knew were admiring my appearance.

Once Devon sat down Cheyenne spoke again.

"Alright, it's time to take off your hood, sweetheart."

Devon Quill hesitantly removed her hood to several loud gasps from the stylists.

"Oh my goodness!" gasped Cheyenne. "What happened?"

"My hair got stuck in the garbage disposal," Devon said too quickly. I knew she was lying. "I had to cut it off to get it out."

"Oh, sweet pea!" Cheyenne exclaimed. "Well, we're gonna get that all fixed up real soon."

Cheyenne stepped on the hydraulic pump on the bottom of the stool and leaned the chair back before Devon popped up.

"Is there any way you can just cut my hair without leaning me back?" she asked quickly.

Cheyenne chuckled.

"Sweetheart, I need to get your hair all clean or else it's gonna shrink up and not be even on both sides."

"O-Okay," Devon stammered.

I was leaning against the wall reading a piece of music on my phone when the hairdresser gave another loud gasp. I looked up.

Cheyenne had gotten all of Devon's mangled hair into the washbasin, leaving her face completely exposed. I immediately knew why she had gasped.

Because on the left side of Devon's face, from the bottom of her eye all the way to her jaw, ran a dark, jagged scar.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Levi's POV

"Sweetheart, what happened?" asked Cheyenne. Devon sat up and let her choppy hair fall back in her face, covering up the scar.

 _So that's why she does that_.

"Nothing," Devon said. "I lived on a farm when I was younger. They had barbed-wire fences and I fell into one."

Another lie.

"Oh, baby," Cheyenne said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she said quickly, shaking her head. "You didn't do it."

I remembered saying something along the same lines about my shattered wrist. After a few moments of silence Cheyenne asked Devon if she would lay back, and she agreed. When all of her hair was in the basin again I got another look at her face.

Other than the scar she had bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, pale skin, a small nose, and full, red lips. Her cheeks were covered with light smatterings of tan freckles and her eyelashes were long and dark. All-in-all she was the picture of beauty, and my heart jumped in my chest.

But that scar…

The scar was dark purple and jagged, and had obviously never been stitched. The skin had been torn, not sliced. I wondered what had really happened, or _who_ had really happened to cause it.

When we walked out of the salon Devon's hair was back in her face, though significantly shorter. It now came to the base of her neck and it obviously bothered her. When we got into my car I turned to face her.

"Are you going to tell me what really caused that scar?" I asked.

"No."

"Hm. Wrong answer."

I unbuckled my seatbelt.

"What are you doing?" she asked through her hair.

"We're going to stay here until you tell me where you got that scar."

She looked at her lap and tried to conceal her shaking right hand.

"I tripped and cut my face on a broken bottle at the beach," she said.

"Lie."

"I accidentally hit myself in the face with a shovel when I was burying one of my dogs."

"Lie."

"I'm not going to tell you," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door. "Thank you for your help, Levi. I can walk from here."

I reached over the console and grabbed her wrist.

"I can't just let you walk home. It'll take you more than an hour."

"And I can't tell you where I got this scar," she snapped, looking at me with the one vibrant blue eye that breached her wall of hair.

I sighed.

"Fine. You don't have to."

She sunk back into her seat and closed the door, burying her face in her hands.

"I'm still going to ask you every day," I said. She let out a bitter laugh.

"And I'm going to give you the same answer every day," she said.

"And that is?"

"The world is ugly."

Devon's POV

I left the last of my money in Levi's car that day as a thank you for the haircut. He had protested but I told him to look at my house and say I didn't have money. The truth was I didn't have money. The only money I ever got I got from stealing off my father's dresser or working odd jobs around the neighborhood. With the school year now in full swing (leaving me no time for odd jobs) and my father finding better places to put his money (like strippers' underwear), I was broke.

So, as a result, I didn't eat lunch. My father, being the only living relative of a very wealthy man and therefore the recipient of all his money, was in the upper class, meaning that I was ineligible to receive free lunches at school. And given how much resemblance the school lunches had to dog food, I didn't really mind. However, after a few days of this, those dog food lunches were starting to look really appealing. The thing was that I didn't eat much at home either. I never had time for breakfast and there was barely any food in the house for dinner, my father more often than not going out to some sports bar with his drinking buddies for dinner. I normally stole some of his money for groceries but, with my bike broken, I couldn't even get those. I was almost out of food, and I think Levi was starting to notice.

It started with him noticing me going straight to my table at lunch rather than going to the lunch line – I was easy to notice because I sat alone. He would raise an eyebrow at me and then look away, presumably forgetting about me as soon as he did. Then I started to lose weight, my face getting slimmer and jeans getting baggier. I added one of my father's belts to my daily ensemble, but I eventually had to start punching more holes in it with a knife. My hands got thinner and more fragile, often shaking when I played the piano or the guitar or violin or whatever the hell I decided to play in those precious fifteen minutes after school.

It was the middle of October before I started passing out during school. I had managed to live on my father's leftovers (with repercussions in the form of makeup-concealed black eyes) until then, but then he started to "forget" his takeout boxes restaurants. I was now completely out of food, and it was impossible to conceal anymore.

One day after school Levi said he was taking me to see a doctor.

"I'm fine," I said.

"You're not fine," he said.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "I don't need to see a doctor."

Suddenly a rattling cough ripped through my body. I knew my immune system was starting to shut down, allowing to get sick much more easily. Soon it would be my kidneys, then my liver. Part of me wanted to get better, but the majority of me wanted death to come sooner.

"You need to see a doctor," Levi repeated.

"Yeah. Okay."

He drove me to DeTar Hospital and got me in to see a doctor in the emergency room. The man's name was Dr. Johnston, and he was a middle-aged man with a friendly smile and laugh-lines around his eyes. He handed Levi a clipboard to fill out.

"I'm not her father," Levi said. "Should I be the one filling this out?"

"Were you the one who brought her here?" Dr. Johnston asked.

"Yes."

"Then fill it out. Just call her parents for her insurance information."

With that the doctor left us to see a patient in an adjacent room.

"Can you call your dad and ask him-"

"I can," I said. "But I won't."

"And why is that?" Levi asked, already filling out the last name section.

"Because I already know my insurance information," I said.

"How-"

"I'm the one making the payments every month," I said bitterly. "I should know that we've got Aflac."

Levi asked me several questions before I just took the clipboard from him and filled the forms in myself. At the end I got him to sign it and I brought it to the front on slightly wobbly legs.

"Thank you!" chirped the woman behind the desk. I forced a smile to my face and thanked her in return before going back to my seat beside Levi.

"So," Levi asked quietly so as not to be overheard by a man with a fishing hook caught in his ear and a woman going into labor, "why exactly are you the one making the insurance payments?"

I looked down at my feet. My vision swam for a moment and I felt light-headed.

"The world is ugly," I said.

"Devon Quill?" asked Dr. Johnston's voice from the doorway in front of us. I got up and went to the door, giving a cursory goodbye to Levi as I went.

The moment I entered the room my legs buckled and I fell to the floor. Dr. Johnston was immediately there to pick me up, placing me on the paper-lined examination table.

"So," he said with a smile. "What seems to be the trouble, other than collapsing?"

I faked a small smile before it slipped from my face.

"Dizziness, fatigue, light-headedness, passing out…" I trailed. "The usual for a sixteen year old girl."

Dr. Johnston chuckled and wrote something on a clipboard.

"Anything else?"

 _My father is an abusive asshole and I want to kill myself_.

"No," I said.

"Alright then," he said, placing his clipboard on the counter. "Let's get this examination started. I'm going to need you to take off your sweater."

I looked down at my sweatshirt. I was hesitant to remove it because I only had a bra on underneath it, but I swallowed my pride and took it off. The moment it was off his smile faded.

I was tiny, I knew. My stomach was concave, my arms grotesquely like a skeleton's, my skin sallow, ribs protruding. The only reason I didn't have dark purple circles under my eyes is because I had somehow managed to find my mother's old makeup kit amongst her things.

"Sweetheart," Dr. Johnston said, "how much do you eat?"

I felt myself tearing up, but I pushed them back and stared at my feet instead.

"Not much, sir," I said quietly.

After a moment of silence he took my pulse, listened to my heart and lungs with his stethoscope, and tested my reflexes. He recorded all his findings on his clipboard before he turned back to me. He held great pity in his eyes. I didn't like it.

"The verdict is that you're emaciated," he said. "It doesn't look like you get much sleep, either."

"I don't, sir," I said.

"I'm going to admit you to the hospital."

My head popped up, my eyes growing wide.

"No, you can't!" I cried. "My father-"

"-will have to understand, Miss Quill. You're thoroughly emaciated, dehydrated, and exhausted. This isn't something that's normal for a girl your age."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you want me to tell your friend out there?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Tell him everything."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Levi's POV

Dr. Johnston came out of the examination room and approached me.

"Would you mind stepping into the hall with me?" he asked. I nodded once and stood up, following him into the adjacent hall.

"What's going on?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm admitting her to the hospital," he said.

I ran a hand over my face, silently thanking whatever deity that I had gotten her there.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked.

"She's emaciated," he said. "She looks like a skeleton. She's exhausted, she's emaciated, and she's dehydrated. From how stressed she is I would guess she hasn't had her period in several months."

I was shocked. Sure, I hadn't seen her eat in a while, but I had assumed she was eating well enough at home.

"Do you have any idea how this could have happened?" Dr. Johnston asked.

"No," I said. The doctor sighed.

"I suspect anorexia," he said. "But I'm not ready to diagnose it just yet. I want to wait a few days and get some food in her, see how she reacts."

"Okay," I said.

Within an hour she was in a room, lying in the hospital bed and facing the door. One blue eye peeked through her hair, telling me she was still awake. She had the blankets pulled up to her chin. It was cold.

I walked into the room. The moment I entered she sat up, propping herself on a shaky arm. I faltered when I saw how bone-like it was.

I took a seat in a hard stuffed chair beside her bed and placed my elbows on my knees.

"Why would you do this to yourself?" I asked her.

Her short hair covered her face, but by the way her back started to shake I could tell she was silently crying. I covered her hand with my own and laced our fingers together. My heart gave an odd flutter before throbbing painfully when I felt how thin her hands were.

"I need to wash my face," she said steadily.

"Okay."

I helped her get shakily out of her bed (trying to ignore the open back of her hospital gown) and into the bathroom. I leaned against the doorframe while she splashed water on her face.

The scar was still there, as was to be expected, but what wasn't expected was how dark purples and blacks and yellows and browns started to appear around her eyes as she washed off what I deduced to be several layers of makeup. She turned off the water. When she rubbed her face dry she winced when she touched her eyes.

Those weren't just dark circles. Those were bruises. Black eyes.

 _"_ _Couldn't you have just gotten your dad to take you?" She almost snorted at that. "What?"_

 _"_ _Nothing. He just didn't have time today."_

 _I looked at her from the corner of my eyes._

 _"_ _He just didn't want to, you mean."_

I blinked.

 _"_ _And I can't tell you where I got this scar," she snapped, looking at me with the one vibrant blue eye that breached her wall of hair._

She looked at me with her black eyes and jagged scar.

"The world is ugly," she choked before collapsing to the floor.

Devon's POV

When I awoke it was nearing dusk, the cloudy day starting to darken in the blind-covered window. I looked to the side and found Levi standing outside the door, the top of his head visible through the small window in the wood. When he came in he was putting his cell phone in his pocket.

"Hey," he said when he saw I was awake.

"Hey," I croaked. I reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the glass of water that was there, taking several large gulps. When I tried to put the glass back I noticed there was an IV in my left arm.

Levi took the glass from my hand and put it back on the table for me.

"Thanks," I said. "How long was I out?"

"About an hour," he told me. "Not too long."

"Good."

He sat down in the chair and looked at me, his stone cold eyes holding some semblance of warmth.

"I called the school," he said. "I'm not going to work tomorrow."

"You don't need to do that," I sighed. "There are plenty of doctors here to take care of me."

"I know."

I ran a hand through my hair, probably exposing my scar for a moment. At that point I couldn't care less.

"I guess you've figured it out by now," I said. Levi made a noise of recognition.

"That your dad's an abusive asshole?"

"Something like that."

He sighed.

"Are you going to tell me where you got that scar now?"

I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand and nodded twice.

"A couple of years ago my father got drunk," I began. "I don't even mean six beer drunk. I mean twelve beer kind of drunk. I went into the living room to try to get him to stop but he didn't want to stop, so he-" I cut myself off when I shuddered.

"He what?"

I took a deep breath.

"He broke a bottle and pinned me to the coffee table and ran the broken edge down my face."

Levi fell completely silent until:

"Do you have anywhere else to go?"

I shook my head.

"What about your mom's?" he asked. "Didn't you say your parents were divorced?"

"I lied," I said. "My mom's been dead for two years now."

He sighed.

"Then that leaves just one option," he said.

"And what would that be?" I asked.

"You're coming to live with me."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Levi's POV

The next day Hanji came for a visit.

"Hey, Shorty!" she chirped when she saw me, obviously a bit surprised by my presence. When she saw Devon in all her frailty she was so shocked that she almost dropped the flowers she was holding. "Sweetie," she cooed.

"Hey, Miss Hanji," Devon responded, her voice quiet and hair pulled back to expose her scar and bruises.

"What happened to your face?" Shitty-Glasses asked. Devon visibly tensed.

"What happened to yours?" she said almost reflexively. She immediately closed her eyes and swore, regretting her comment. Shitty-Glasses, on the other hand, seemed delighted by the insult. She laughed loudly and handed her the flowers. Devon immediately squeezed them into a vase beside another bouquet on her bedside table.

"I forgot about your little bouts of sarcasm," she said. "How's Shorty here been treating you?"

"Very well," Devon answered.

Hanji clapped me on the shoulder.

"Good!" she said. "You know I would have killed him if he made my favorite student upset."

Devon laughed lightly- an airy, throaty sound.

"Thank you, Miss Hanji. But I don't think I'll be needing your services today."

"Alrighty then!" Shitty-Glasses said before turning to me. "Could I talk to you outside, Shorty?"

I nodded and told Devon I'd be right back before following Shitty-Glasses out the door and closing it securely. When my back was firmly planted against the door the music director began to speak.

"I didn't just come to see Devon," she said, looking more serious than I had ever seen her. "Erwin sent me to talk to you. He said you'd be here, but I was skeptical."

"Why did Erwin send you to speak to me instead of just calling me?" I asked. "That would save everyone a trip."

"Because I wanted to see my favorite student," she answered. "Anyway, he says that you probably have good intentions, but you're starting to look suspicious."

"Suspicious how?" I asked. I already knew.

"I was not aware of this until this morning, but Pieter Jones, a senior, made a report to Erwin that you have been giving her rides for the past few months. He said that he was concerned for Devon's safety."

 _Pieter Jones…_ I remembered him. He was the little shit responsible for bullying Devon.

"Pieter," I scoffed. "You do realize that he's been bullying Devon for who knows how long."

Shitty-Glasses seemed taken aback.

"Really? He's such a good kid, though. He comes from a great family-"

"I have personally witnessed him physically and emotionally harass that girl. Repeatedly. And because I seem to be the only one standing up for her he is trying to find a way to get rid of me."

"I'll agree with you on that. I trust you. The thing is… Erwin has been noticing the same things. Sometimes he'll look out of his office window and find her getting into your car. He says you're getting too close."

I sighed and ran a hand over my face. I was exhausted.

"Shitty-Glasses," I said, "Erwin can suck my dick at this point."

"That's a dangerous mindset to have if you want to keep your job, Levi," she said in return. "Erwin says you're getting too close, and I, looking out for Devon's best interest, agree with him."

I was silent for a moment before saying:

"Did you know her father cut her hair?"

"I didn't-"

"With a meat cleaver. While he held her head on the kitchen counter."

Hanji's glass-covered eves went wide.

"And," I continued, "Did you know that he beat her? Or that he attempted to make her suck him off? Or that he deliberately carved that scar onto her face? Or that he starved her for nearly two months? You saw how thin she was. You saw the scar. You saw the bruises. It's not hard to believe."

She looked down at her feet.

"I didn't know that," she said quietly.

"She's been talking to me all morning," I said. "She needs someone to be close to, and if that's me, so be it."

We stood in the hallway for several minutes, not speaking, hardly breathing. I looked at a marker drawing done by a ten-year-old that had been framed and put on the wall. Shitty-Glasses sat down on a bench and looked at her shoes.

Dr. Johnston came around the corner and stopped by the two of us.

"Hello," he said brightly, looking from me to Shitty-Glasses. "Could I please ask you to step out for a moment? I need to ask Mr. Ackerman here some questions about the patient."

"Absolutely," Shitty-Glasses said as she took her leave. "See you later, Shorty!"

The look in her eyes told me her brightness was fake that time.

When we were alone in the hall Dr. Johnston turned to me and spoke.

"After seeing her eat, no reluctance or anything, I'm starting to rule out anorexia," he said. "Are you sure you don't know how this could have happened?"

I sighed again.

"Her father is an asshole, to put it bluntly," I said. "He starved her. At least, that's what she told me, and I have no reason to believe she's lying."

"That would explain it," he said with a click of his tongue. "We're going to have to call social services."

"I've already opened my home to her," I said. "She can stay with me for a while, at least as long as it takes to get her emancipated or in foster care."

"That'll be good. She'll need a place."

We both looked over to the door to Devon's room. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

"I can't believe this," I said quietly. The doctor nodded solemnly.

"I've seen more than my fair share of child abuse cases, but this is one of the worst."

"If there's anything I can do while she's still in the hospital-"

"You can keep her company," Dr. Johnston said. "What she needs right now is a friend. From her shy demeanor I'm going to guess that she doesn't have many of those."

"I don't think she does."

He patted my shoulder and told me to go back into her room before turning and leaving. I was suddenly alone in the hallway, and my heart felt heavier than it had in a long time.

One Week Later

Devon's POV

My father was incarcerated and in the process of being tried for child abuse, with more papers and evidence needed to bring him to court. I had been told that it was unlikely that he would ever confess to anything he had done. Because he was in jail it meant I was safe from him. It also meant that I was homeless; that was quickly remedied by a court order that allowed me to stay with Levi.

His house wasn't huge, but it had a spare bedroom and it was devoid of my father, so it would do. I rolled my suitcase into his living room and stood beside it, staring at the clean mantelpiece and shining wood floors, so different from the dust and ragged carpeting in my old house.

"There are some rules," Levi said beside me. I jumped at his voice. "Sorry."

"It's fine. I'm just jumpy," I said.

"Anyway, there are rules, but not many. Don't take too long in the shower because I have a budget for my water bill, don't cook anything unless I'm in the house with you, clean up after yourself, and leave dirty shoes at the door. Those count as dirty shoes," he said, gesturing towards my feet. I suddenly realized that his feet were only clothed in socks. It was strange to see him even in that slight stage of undress.

I toed off my shoes and pushed them until they sat beside the doormat, then came back to stand by my host.

"Are those all the rules, sir?" I asked, then inhaled sharply when I realized I had said the s-word. "Sorry."

"Just work on it. And other than don't make any really loud noises and don't poke holes in the walls, those are all the rules."

I nodded and tightened my grip on the handle of my suitcase.

"Where is the guest room?" I asked.

"I'll show you," he said, beginning to walk past the kitchen and down the hall. We took a left and a right before coming to stand before a plain white door with a zip tie around the knob. Levi fingered the plastic strip briefly before opening the door to reveal light grey walls and a double bed, crisp white linens and two pillows, closet doors and a white dresser, a night stand on either side of the bed and a small bench at its foot.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, eyes wide as they could go. "Are you sure it's okay for me to sleep here? I could always take the couch."

He sighed.

"It's fine, Devon," he said. "Beds are for sleeping. Use it."

I nodded and dabbed at my eyes with the back of my sweatshirt's cuff.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "It's just… Thank you."

He nodded and hummed in recognition.

"I'll give you the grand tour now," he said.

He took me back to the living room to begin the tour and then led me to the kitchen, dining room, office, music room ("You can use any instrument you want," he said. "Just be careful with them."), bathroom number one, his bedroom, bathroom number two, the door to the backyard, and finally back to what would be my bedroom for the duration of my stay. I leaned against the doorframe and looked into the room, how it contrasted so strikingly with my battered red suitcase.

"I'll let you get unpacked," Levi said. "Dinner will be in an hour. Probably pancakes."

"For dinner?" I questioned.

"I like pancakes," he said simply. I smiled slightly.

"It's not a crime, I guess."

He left me to unpack, his socked footsteps echoing softly as he made his way back down the hallway. I entered the room and quietly closed the door before going to where my suitcase sat and kneeling beside it. Unzipping the luggage, I pushed back the top and took a look at my possessions: a couple of t-shirts, a couple of bras, a spare pair of socks, two pairs of underwear, my battered toothbrush and almost empty tube of toothpaste, my hairbrush, the first _Harry Potter_ book, and my phone charger. I looked around me at the grandeur of the room, my eyes landing on the closet.

 _People have enough clothes to fill out that thing_ , I thought. It was such a foreign notion that I almost forgot that I had lived like that only two years earlier. When my gaze strayed to the dresser the thought sunk in further as I realized that not only did normal people have enough to fill out a closet, but they also had enough to fill up a dresser. People had makeup and razors and could afford to squeeze from the middle of a tube of toothpaste, had printers and decorative pillows and jars of change, had high heels and socks without holes and dentist appointments, had ceramic plates and paper towels and artwork.

I leaned my forehead against the bench that sat at the foot of the bed and felt small tears trail down my face. I wasn't convulsing in sobs; I didn't have the energy to wipe away the tears, much less to full-out cry. I must have sat there for a good hour. Before I could manage to put anything into the dresser there was a knock at the door.

"Dinner's ready," Levi's voice came through the door. "It's pancakes."

When I didn't respond – didn't move – Levi cautiously opened the door to find me sitting on the floor with my forehead against the plush top of the bench.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I said hoarsely.

"Are you going to finish unpacking?"

"I never started."

He looked at my nearly empty suitcase and noticed just how little I had, probably suppressing a sigh.

"I'll take you to get some clothes tomorrow," he promised. "I can't afford anything fancy but I can at least get you a package of socks."

"Could I have a razor or two? And a new toothbrush?"

"Of course."

"And shampoo?"

"Why wouldn't I let you have shampoo?"

I nodded against the bench before forcing myself to stand. I wiped my face with the cuff of my sleeve and shakily walked over to the doorway. Levi didn't move.

"Could I get by?" I asked quietly. He stepped out of the way and let me walk down the hall towards the dining room.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Devon's POV

I went back to school the next day, something I had been dreading. Apparently, as I found out after school, I had been dreading it with good reason.

"Hey, freak show!" Pieter called. I sighed and clenched my fists in my sweatshirt pocket, but kept moving down the sidewalk towards Levi's car. "Hey, I'm talking to you, Quill!"

"I noticed," I said dryly. "What of it?"

He was slightly taken aback by my sarcasm, but he kept at it anyway, following me as I walked.

"Where've you been the past week? Crying at home because nobody likes you?"

"We're not in middle school anymore, Pieter. You're being childish."

He grabbed my arm and whirled me around.

"How dare scum like you talk to me like that? You will _not_ talk to me like that again, do you hear me?" he commanded lowly.

"I hear you."

"Are you going to be a good little girl and take what I dish out?"

"No," I scoffed. "I'm done being your little toy."

"Wrong answer, bitch."

Suddenly one of his cronies grabbed my hair from the back and yanked. I cried out in pain before Pieter told his friend to stop.

"Now are you going to listen to me?" he asked.

"Why are you doing this?"

"That's not an answer."

My hair was pulled again and I cried out, this time loud enough to attract the attention of a group of students standing on the steps.

"Hey!" I heard Eren Jaeger's voice call. "Stop that!"

"What are you gonna do about, freak?" Pieter called back. "Hit me? My dad's a lawyer!"

"I'll handle this," Mikasa Ackerman said quietly, pulling a protesting Eren back by his collar. She slowly but surely approached Pieter, walking down the sidewalk with a purpose until she reached us. "Let her go, Pieter."

"Like hell," he spat, though his voice wavered. Mikasa had a reputation as the school's badass. I didn't blame him for being scared.

"Alright," said Mikasa before she decked him. Pieter fell to the ground holding his cheek. I felt the grip on my hair loosen before disappearing completely. The main bully finally picked himself up off the ground and stared at Mikasa fearfully before running away with his tail between his legs, his cronies trailing after him.

"Thank you," I said quietly. Armin Arlert and Eren came scurrying over to Mikasa's side.

"How long have those assholes been bothering you?" Eren growled, looking like he was ready to go chasing after them.

"Since the beginning of freshman year," I said, adjusting the straps on my backpack. "Thank you."

"You're in our eighth period music class, aren't you?" Armin asked. I nodded. "What's your name?"

"B- Devon Quill."

Eren, suddenly all smiles (I wondered how his mood could change so quickly), stuck out his hand.

"Eren Jaeger," he said cheerily. "Nice to meet you."

I hesitantly shook his hand, followed by the hands of the other two. To my surprise I found that my hand wasn't shaking when it finally came to rest by my side.

"We were going to the Whataburger around the block if you want to come with us," Armin offered.

I looked back at Levi's car to see that he was leaning against it patiently.

"Thanks," I said. "But I really have to get home."

 _Home_.

"Oh," said Eren. "That's okay. Maybe another time."

"I'd… I'd really like that," I said.

We walked together to the end of the sidewalk before saying our goodbyes, the group of friends taking a right to head to Whataburger and me crossing the street to Levi's car. When I got into the passenger's seat I was grinning like an idiot, and Levi noticed.

"What's that smile about?" he asked.

"I haven't had a decent interaction with someone my own age in a long time," I said. "It was… nice."

"I'll bet."

He buckled his seatbelt and shifted the car into drive, driving us towards his house.

The next day Mikasa came to my rescue again, sending Pieter running. I thanked her again and was about to be on my way when she stopped me.

"Hey," she said. "We're going to Whataburger again, if you want to join us."

I looked back to see that Levi was leaning against the driver's side door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'd really like to. It's just that he's waiting for me and I don't want to inconvenience him at all."

"Who?" asked Eren.

"Le- Mr. Ackerman," I said. "If I go with you is there any way you could drop me off somewhere afterwards?"

"I have a car," said Armin. "I can get you where you need to be."

"I'll run that by Mr. Ackerman really quickly," I said as I hurried over to where he stood by his car.

When I reached him he told me that he had heard the conversation and that it wouldn't be an inconvenience to him. I felt my lips turn up in a smile.

"Thank you, Levi," I said. He made an odd "tch" sound through his teeth before getting into his car. I went back to Eren, Mikasa, and Armin and told them that I could go, and then we started down the sidewalk towards the Whataburger.

Once we arrived at the restaurant the three friends ordered and I saved us a booth, saying that I didn't want to spoil my appetite for dinner rather than that I didn't have any money. They got their food and came to sit with me, Eren and Armin sitting next to each other and Mikasa sitting beside me.

"How do you think you did on Mr. Bossard's econ test?" Eren asked us, and that was how the conversation got started.

I mostly just listened, but I was able to smoothly interject my own opinions and comments into the conversation every once in a while. They talked about everything from school to sports to new books they had read (Armin did most of the talking on that subject), from goings-on at home to animals to new movies. I did my best to keep up, but hearing them talk only made me realize how much of my time I had dedicated to just keeping myself alive – I hadn't seen a movie outside of school in two years.

"What about you, Devon?" asked Eren.

"What?" I asked. I must have zoned out. It didn't seem to bother the green-eyed boy, however. He merely smiled.

"Who's your favorite teacher?"

"Mr. Ackerman," I said too quickly.

"As a teacher or as a person?" asked Mikasa. I could tell from her tone of voice that she didn't like Levi all that much.

"Both," I admitted. "I mean, I really like the way he teaches. I've learned a lot about music theory since the beginning of the semester, and that's saying a lot considering the fact that I took the class last year."

"If you took the class last year then why would you sign up for it again?" asked Armin. I could tell that he was one of those people who couldn't stand to be told what they already knew.

"It's the best class I've ever been in," I said. "Plus, when I signed up for it I thought that Ms. Hanji was going to be teaching it. She was my favorite teacher last year."

"You said you liked him as a person, too," said Eren. "How close are you two? I saw you get into his car yesterday."

"You're not _dating_ him, are you?" asked Armin.

"No!" I said quickly. "No, it's not like that at all. He's just been helping me out through some stuff. And he's letting me stay with him for a while. Maybe even until I graduate."

"Why are you staying with him?" Eren asked as he took a bite of his chicken tender. Mikasa sent him a grave look that told him he shouldn't have asked, but he seemed to be oblivious to her.

"My father got arrested," I said. "I don't have any other living relatives, so Le- Mr. Ackerman told me I was going to stay with him."

"That's rough. What did he get arrested for?"

"Eren," Mikasa warned.

"What?" he asked. "I just want to know."

"I'd rather not talk about it," I said.

"Come on," he laughed. "It's not like it was child abuse or anything, right?"

I remained silent.

"Right?"

I looked at him through my hair, one blue eye peeking through the curtain. His cheery smile instantly vanished and he slumped down in his seat.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry."

"Eren, you're a moron," said Armin.

"It's fine," I said quickly. "It's really fine."

"No, it's not," sighed Mikasa, getting up from her seat. "Come on, Eren."

"What-"

Mikasa dragged Eren out of his seat by his collar and led him outside. I could see through the glass door that she was talking to him, probably about how he needed to be more observant. That left me alone with Armin.

"I'm really sorry about Eren," he apologized.

"It's fine," I repeated. "He's just stupid."

"Yeah," Armin laughed. "That's my Eren."

"Are you two dating?" I asked suddenly. The blonde boy's face contorted into a sad smile.

"No," he said.

"Who is it that isn't interested?"

He looked down at his lap.

"Him," he said quickly before looking back out at where his friends stood.

I hummed in acknowledgement. Eren and Mikasa soon returned from outside and Armin offered to take me back to Levi's house, an offer I quickly accepted. Once I had reached my destination I said goodbye to my new acquaintances and got out of the car, watching as they drove away.

When I got inside I found Levi sitting on his couch grading papers rather than in his office. He had obviously been waiting for me.

"How was your little get-together?" he asked without looking up from his work.

"Fine," I said. When he did look up I noticed that he was wearing reading glasses.

"You're not smiling," he observed.

"I'm not?" I asked absently. "I'm going to go do my homework now."

"Alright," he said, not pushing the topic any further.

I went into my borrowed bedroom, fiddling with the zip tie around the doorknob before entering, and plopped my backpack onto the bed. I closed the door and took off my socks (I had left my shoes at the door, as per Levi's instructions) before getting under the covers and curling into a ball.

For the first time in a while I put off doing my homework. Instead, I slept.

Levi's POV

She didn't come when I called her for dinner, so I went to her room and found her asleep, curled into a tiny ball at the edge of her bed. Her hair was finally out of her face, but her expression was far from peaceful; the space between her brows was furrowed into a deep wrinkle, like she was thinking about something distressing. She let out a little whimper and curled tighter into herself.

I closed the door on her and went back to the kitchen, packaging up a portion of the Chinese takeout I had brought home and putting it in the fridge. She could microwave it when she woke up.


End file.
